Until the End of the Line
by SpartanGuard
Summary: When waiting for the next part of your afterlife, it helps to have a best friend around. (Captain Charming brotp CS & Snowing)


There was still something satisfying about relaxing on the porch after a full day of work, even after all these years. Killian basked in the glow of the setting sun, a pleasant ache in his aged muscles as he settled into the weatherworn wooden chair he'd claimed as his own some fifty years back.

(How odd that such a timespan would be considered the majority of most people's lives and was only a fraction of his—yet was, by far, the best and richest, putting all his previous decades to shame.)

He never thought he'd have such a full life to reflect on. As he sat overlooking the backyard of their home, where a sheepdog was currently chasing after butterflies, he got so lost in the memories of children (and later, grandchildren) playing there that he didn't notice when someone took a seat next to him; not until the thunk of a beer bottle on the arm of the chair pulled him out of the past.

"What were you thinking about, Hook?" David asked, sinking his old bones onto an equally weathered chair and taking a sip from his own bottle.

"All the things this yard has seen. Remember when my cunning daughters tried to throw a kegger back here?"

"And instead of busting them, you joined right in, and called everyone over," Dave finished with a chuckle, deepening the already thick lines around his eyes. "I think we embarrassed them into never trying that again."

"Whatever works, right?"

"I'll drink to that." He held his bottle to Killian, who clinked his own against it, and they both settled back to reminisce, as they did most evenings while watching the sun's descent.

He hadn't noticed it the first time around, but the red sky made for an exceptionally beautiful sunset in the Underworld.

They sat in companionable silence, watching Wilby play in the yard, as they had for countless nights over the past few years. Time was a bit fuzzy—they liked to blame it on old age, but both knew it was just part of "life" down here. By his estimate, Killian had been in the Underworld for about three years; David, five. Actually, his father-in-law was the first to greet him upon arrival, waiting in the marina once he'd docked the _Jolly Roger_. He was surprised to see David at all, but when he realized that they were both in the Underworld rather than moving on, he figured they were there for the same reason.

For Killian, at least, he knew he had once promised to not let Emma be his unfinished business; but he later promised to always, always be at her side, for all eternity. He'd obviously broken the first part and he'd be damned—literally—if he wasn't there to escort her into the second.

He could still feel her, too, just like the first time here. Some days, it was stronger than others—maybe because one was missing the other more than the usual constant amount—but he always seemed to be aware of her, despite the distance, and he knew it was the same for Dave.

And so, the two silver-haired mates filled the ensuing years waiting for their True Loves in a variety of ways. Despite being the land of the dead, the Nolan farm was still flourishing and there was always something to do. Today had been repairing the barn door; last week, it had been mending fences; and there was always the day-to-day work of milking the cows, collecting eggs, herding the sheep with Wilby's help, and shearing the wool periodically—the products of all going to Granny, who appreciated and used them in various ways.

"So, what's on the agenda for tomorrow?" Killian asked as the stars began to show overhead. (At least those were no different from the land of the living; there was some comfort in knowing that his loved ones were looking at the same lights in the sky.)

"There's probably some painting to do, and Arthur had asked if we could take a look at the garden outside his office, but neither are urgent. I say we take a day off to sail; you?"

"Sounds perfect to me."

It was so unlike the Underworld he'd found himself in all those years ago. No longer was it a land of hopelessness and depression, but a peaceful place to resolve any unfinished business before moving on. Arthur wasn't the power-mad king this world had known previously, or even the one he'd been when they met him in Camelot—he'd truly fixed this broken kingdom, and did all he could to see souls on their way.

Consequently, the Underworld was rather quiet. In the time they'd been down there, they'd seen many friends arrive, reunited with the ones who were already there, and seen nearly all to the afterlife. It left them free to do whatever they wished, and it wasn't an entirely lonely existence, but it was almost too relaxing sometimes.

He wasn't unhappy, but he was anxious for the next thing; he'd never been good at staying in one place long without some form of adventure. But he was ultimately a patient man, and willing to wait as long as it took for Emma to join him.

Beers finished and the moon out, David slowly rose from his chair and called for Wilby to come. He offered a hand to Killian and pulled him up, too; Killian hadn't realized how sore he was until just now.

"Breakfast at Granny's?" David didn't really need to ask; it was how they started nearly every day.

"Of course, mate."

They hugged each other tight, and then David headed off into the night towards home, Wilby at his side, while Killian went about his nightly routine. He went in the house, took off his shoes by the front door, hung his leather jacket on the same hook he always had, and made sure the front porch light was turned on (just in case). Then he headed upstairs to the master suite, carefully placed his brace on the bedside table, and washed the day's dust away in the shower.

Like every night, he took stock of his reflection as he toweled dry. He was leaner than he had been as a young man, his ribs and cheekbones standing out more than he would like; the illness that finally claimed him did a number on his body, but he at least wasn't in any pain down here. He imagined the arrogant pirate he had once been would have some nasty, vain words for the old man in the mirror, but Killian wouldn't trade a single one of the many lines on his face or gray hairs on his head for the beautiful life he'd lived with Emma and their children.

All the old scars were still there, but faded with time: the lash marks on his back from a life in servitude; the jagged line from Excalibur that sent him here the first time; even the gnarled mess of his blunted wrist had smoothed over the years. He knew that was how it was supposed to be—time heals all wounds and all that—but he always liked to say that Emma's love had mended him, and in countless ways, it had.

A yawn overcame him, and suddenly he felt far more tired than he had a moment ago. (It truly was odd how his immortal soul fell victim to such mortal complaints.) Without further dawdling, he donned a shirt and sleep pants and collapsed into the too-large bed. Out of habit, he stuck to one side; he could never bring himself to sprawl across it and fill the empty half, knowing it belonged to someone else. But again, he was happy to wait as long as possible for her.

Across town, in an equally oversized bed, he knew David was doing the same. He was eternally grateful to have a friend down here who was in a similar position, and part of his unbeating heart went out to his father-in-law, knowing how he was alone the first couple years. Some nights, when the loneliness crept in, one of them would spend the night at the other's house, just to make the echoing halls not so hollow. Dave's pancakes the following morning would usually help chase away any lingering melancholy.

It wasn't an altogether terrible existence; just an incomplete one. So, like every night, when Killian drifted off, he dreamed that Emma was in his arms.

* * *

"Morning, Captain; looking as old as ever."

"Why, Lady Lucas, I've no clue what you're talking about. I'm hardly a day over 250."

Killian and Granny's banter had picked up right where it left off when she passed some 35 years ago and was still a part of their daily routine, almost as if the price of coffee and eggs was a witty retort.

He slid into his usual booth across from David, who was already working on a mug, and Granny followed shortly with one for Killian and their usual breakfast orders. Like every day, his was piled just a little too high.

"Love, you know I can't eat that much," he teased.

"You're too skinny, Jones. Eat up." Ever since he arrived, she'd tried to make up for what the cancer had done and put some more meat back on his bones; it hadn't worked and likely never would, but he appreciated her efforts nonetheless.

He and Dave just chuckled and dug in as she walked away, muttering under her breath. They did manage to catch her saying something about Ruby; it was common, though unspoken, knowledge that her granddaughter was her unfinished business. Not for a necessarily bad reason—she just worried too much, and wouldn't be at rest until Ruby was, at rest too. So she took out that excess concern on the restless souls who found their way to this realm in the meantime.

Restless was the word of the day, it seemed. Ever since he woke that morning, Killian had felt on edge, filled with the same kind of nervous energy that preceded a battle. And judging by the furrow in Dave's brow, he was in a similar state.

"You feel that, too, mate?" he inquired between bites of bacon.

"Like something's about to happen, but you're not sure if it's good or bad?" David questioned in reply; Killian nodded. "Yeah, all day, and it just keeps getting worse."

"What do you think it means?" There hadn't been any major problems down here in years—not since Hades left. "Perhaps we should check in with Arthur?"

"Yeah, let's do that before…" The tinkle of the bell on the door interrupted David, and he trailed off as he stared at whoever had just entered the diner. Despite all the years of knowing him and being able to read him nearly as well as Killian could his daughter, his expression was unreadable: somewhere between shock, horror, and elation. Killian could only think of one person who could elicit such a reaction, and turned in his seat to see if the newcomer was who he suspected.

It was: with a watery grin on her face, there stood Snow, a bit older than he last saw her, with hair the color of her name, but just as regal as ever.

No words needed to be spoken between the reunited True Loves. David simply stood, walked over to her in as few steps as possible, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

Other diners applauded, and he was pretty sure Granny wiped a tear from her eye. Killian too was elated to see the reunion, both for David and to have part of his family back, but deep down, he knew it would be bittersweet: they were likely to move on soon, and he would still be here. He knew that line of thinking was selfish, but it came unbidden, likely due to the unease that hadn't abated at Snow's arrival.

He stood from the booth as she reunited with Granny, joking that she was finally older than the old wolf, before letting David lead her back to the table.

"Snow," he greeted warmly.

"Oh, Killian," she answered in a motherly tone, pulling him into her always-warm embrace. "Has David been taking care of you?"

"Of course he has, milady," he confirmed. "Though I think we both know he needs to be looked after much more than I do," he added, winking at Dave, who chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah, enough of that," Dave attempted to rebuff, but the crinkled laugh lines around his eyes said otherwise.

They all settled back into the booth to catch up, and Snow promptly stole a piece of bacon off David's plate. Killian smiled sadly at the memory of Emma always doing the same to him; suddenly, he didn't quite have the appetite for his meal anymore.

But he was hungry for information about his family, as was David. "So how is everyone?" Dave asked right away, barely letting her finish chewing.

"Well, I was kind of...out of it the last few months," she started, a bit sadly. Both men just nodded—they'd both been through the same, so Killian blessedly less so. "But in the last couple years, everyone was great. Lucy had a baby!" she exclaimed, turning to Killian. "His name is Killian Henry."

Killian glanced down, blushing; he and Lucy had always been particularly close, but he was still honored to hear the name. Snow continued on about the rest of their kids and grandkids, and it truly warmed his heart to hear that everyone was doing so well. But one name was noticeably absent.

"And Emma?" he finally asked, a bit more impatiently than intended.

Snow's face fell a bit. "Well, like I said, I've been a bit out of it. She was fine before I got sick, and we were living next to each other in the retirement home, but I don't know if anything has happened since then."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He'd wanted to hear that she was still thriving, giving their grandkids a run for their money and sneaking Pop Tarts whenever she could. Age would catch up with her, too, he knew, but he didn't want that for her.

She needed fresh air, not to be cooped up in some home. And he needed some, too—right now, if he could. Quickly, he thought of a reason to leave; he knew they wouldn't buy it, but he'd never want to seem rude. "Ah, I suppose I shouldn't infringe on your reunion any longer. I'll be seeing myself off. Until later," he farewelled, starting to slide out of the booth.

"You sure? You've hardly touched your food; Granny will be mad."

"I'll have to extend to her my apologies, then." (In the background, he heard the woman in question shout, "Damn right you will! Remember who controls the rum around here!")

"Still want to go sailing?" David asked once Killian stood. He was a bit surprised; he assumed they'd want to spend the day alone.

But he was hardly one to say no. "Absolutely. If you both want to."

Snow answered, "I'd like that," with a nostalgic smile; it had been some years since they'd been able to go out as a family.

"Then I'll ready the ship. 'Til then."

Without looking back, he left the diner, pausing only to give Granny a thankful nod, and headed down to the docks, where the _Jolly Roger_ was bobbing happily. Even after all this time, setting foot on deck was still like greeting an old friend.

Before he went about readying the sails, he stood at the railing and gazed out at the ocean and horizon beyond. While the sky still tinted everything red, the sea at least no longer carried that garish green hue from the River of Lost Souls. Not long after he arrived, he helped Arthur free all those trapped in the River with the help of some casual research he and Belle had done over the years. It was Killian's special privilege to see Milah off to her happy ending (finally), and he gladly bore her teasing about how old he was (also finally). David and James also reconciled at last, and while there was some ribbing there about David's age, it was apparent that James was a bit jealous that he never got to do the same.

Now Killian was the jealous one, envious of those resting souls while his continued on waiting. His other reason for coming out alone was to see if the water would calm him like it always had, but whatever tenseness was agitating him ceased to go away. Maybe he'd talk to someone about it later...maybe. Or maybe he'd just find ways of distracting himself until David and Snow inevitably moved on.

He went with the latter, setting about pulling lines, checking sails—anything he could do by hand or that required focus, even though most of it was beyond muscle memory at this point. He was feeling a bit better by the time Snow and David arrived, but still unsettled. Even once they'd cast off and were in open waters—the place he'd most found solace for most of his life—unease still scratched at him. Snow asked if he was alright while they ate the picnic lunch she packed; he brushed it off as having slept at a weird angle. She and David exchanged a knowing glance he'd seen far too many times, but they knew not to prod so they didn't.

He chided himself—he should be happy to be reunited with such a dear friend! The happy smiles on David's face all day alone were definitely enough to warm his heart. But he couldn't shake the bittersweetness of it all, especially when they all sat down to dinner at Granny's like they had so many times in the past. As someone who'd once had no family at all, he had made sure to never take the one he'd found in Storybrooke for granted, and he certainly wouldn't start now; he just selfishly wanted to hold onto it until it could be completed again.

They retired to the Nolan farmstead for a nightcap, like he and Dave did regualrly, and chatted about the old days as they watched the sunset paint shadows on the fields, until all that was left was the reddish glow of the moon.

"You wanna stay tonight?" David offered once they moved inside, but Killian couldn't bring himself to accept.

"No; I've intruded on your time with your wife enough. I'll just head back home."

David nodded sadly; he too must have realized that his time in the Underworld was now limited. So he brought Killian in for a bruising hug, pouring all his unsaid words into it, and Killian held on tight.

"I love you, man," David said softly.

"Love you too, mate," Killian answered, hoping his voice didn't betray his hurt at the impending loss of his best friend. It was like facing David's death all over again, even though he knew he'd probably see him again. He just wasn't sure how long it would be.

They eventually (reluctantly) broke apart, and Snow was quick to pull him into an equally tight hug. "Thank you for taking care of him for me," she whispered, also aware of the impending separation.

"It was my pleasure, milady." It truly was—though he couldn't be with his wife and children, his best mate had been excellent company.

He could feel tears pricking at his eyes and stepped back, glancing down to try to hide it. "Right then," he said, swallowing. "I'll be off."

His hand was barely on the door knob when David said, "Granny's tomorrow?" ' _One last time_ ' was unsaid, but hung in the air.

"Aye, of course." He wouldn't miss it for anything. "I'll see you then." They said their farewells and he left, slowly walking back across Underbrooke toward home.

There, he went inside, took off his shoes by the front door, hung his leather jacket on the same hook he always did, and made sure the front porch light was turned on (just in case). Then he continued his nightly routine as always, washing off the salt this time, and again slipping into one side of that too-large bed by himself. A lone tear tracked down his face and he murmured "I miss you, Emma," before drifting off.

* * *

Usually, he was awoken by the first morning light shining through the gauzy bedroom curtains. The red cast softened it a bit, but it was still enough to rouse him. Emma had always complained about his ability to rise with the sun, until near the end when he was too tired to do so—then she missed it.

He sighed at the memory as he slowly woke, still hazy as he regained consciousness. Last night's dream of Emma had been especially vivid; he swore he could feel her soft skin under his fingers, still perfect to him despite the effects of time. He swore he could even smell her hair and feel her warmth pressed against him. So he forced himself to blink his eyes and shook his head as if to shake the dream away.

A sleepy groan accompanied his movement—but it hadn't come from him. Something, or rather someone, was shifting next to him, tucked into his side.

A voice broke the silence. "'Nother hour...go back to sleep." And Killian's breath hitched in his throat; it had been far too long since he heard that tired tone.

He glanced down at his chest, where their hands were intertwined and where her head was resting; he was always her favorite pillow. She was a bit older than he remembered, but still absolutely beautiful, especially in slumber. Her hair may be silver now, but it was still a riotous mess that he absolutely adored. Surely he was still dreaming, then—it couldn't actually be her, could it?

Gingerly, he squeezed her hand and whispered hopefully, "Swan?"

Blearily, she blinked a few times and looked up at him, staring back with the same green eyes that had entranced him for so many decades, but now edged with deep lines as she softly smiled at him.

"Hey, beautiful," she answered, with a slight smirk.

He reached up to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheek. She was real; she was here—warm and soft under his palm and at his side. Part of him couldn't believe it, but the rest of him was beginning to thrum in a way he hadn't since his death.

"Killian?" Her concerned voice cut into his thoughts, and her brow was furrowed to match. "Are you okay?"

He didn't even try to come up with a response; he just surged forward and claimed her lips in a long-overdue kiss. No other reply was needed, judging by the way she instantly responded in kind—she knew exactly what he was saying with it. All the _I love you_ s and _I miss you_ s that had been said from afar were poured into one single embrace. The desperation and joy in it reminded him of when he'd been resurrected, though this was quite the opposite. Wait, that meant—

He pulled back abruptly, nearly panicked now. "Emma! Are you—were you—"

"Shh," she told him, placing a finger on his lips and knowing full well where his racing mind was going. "I wasn't hurt, or sick, or in pain. I just...missed you all too much. It was just like _Titanic_ ," she added with a smile.

"You died an old woman, warm in your bed?" he finished, smirking slightly. (They'd watched that movie many times over the years, and it had only reinforced his preference to wooden ships.)

She nodded. "After Mom passed, I was just...ready. I went to bed, and then I found myself here, right outside the house. Thanks for keeping the light on for me."

"I never turned it off," he murmured.

"I figured. You know, I could feel you the whole time, just like before. Didn't I tell you once not to wait for me?"

"I never listen."

"You're impossible."

"And you love me for it," he teased, echoing a conversation that was now a distant memory. "I could feel you too, love, every day. And I think I realize now why I was an inexplicable nervous wreck yesterday."

"Sorry," she apologized, looking sheepish. "And sorry I kept you waiting so long."

"Nonsense," he quickly answered, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "You were where you needed to be, with our family. How is everyone—Henry, the girls?"

For the next hour, Emma caught him up on the goings-on of their family and Storybrooke while they held each other tight—him taking every opportunity to pepper her with kisses—and he was overjoyed to hear that everyone was well (though he did go red again at hearing the name of their great-grandbaby). "What about yo—" she started, but was interrupted by the grumble of her stomach. "Sorry," she winced. "Wow, I didn't know I could still get hungry."

He just chuckled and glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost time for his regular breakfast date. "How about we head into town for some food? There are some people there that will probably be overjoyed to see you."

"Hmm, I could probably go for some pancakes," she mused with a saucy wink.

After another thorough kiss, they went about their morning routine just like always, as if they'd never been apart. They danced around each other—and with; Killian was hesitant to have her out of his embrace for very long—until they headed out the door in their matching leather jackets and made their way to breakfast wrapped in each other's arms.

Whatever quip Granny had prepped for that morning died on her lips when she saw Emma trail in behind him; she was just as surprised to see Emma as Emma was Granny. Despite being the same age, Granny fussed over Emma like she was still a girl, just as she had Snow, and quickly ushered her over to the booth where David and Snow waited.

Again, Killian stood by at the tearful reunion, but with none of the awkwardness or inner turmoil of the previous day's; in fact, he too got misty-eyed watching his wife and her parents embrace and shout over each other, until David brought him into the group hug and the four of them huddled tight. While it was by no means his whole family, it was a core group of it and having them finally back together made his soul feel more peaceful than it had in ages.

Peaceful. He was at peace. His unfinished business was complete. Did that mean…? He glanced at David across the huddle; he too was wearing a calm but curious expression, and they exchanged a nod. They knew.

Granny ended up breaking apart the reunion to serve breakfast, so they took their seats as she slid mountains of food across the table; she knew what was coming, too, Killian guessed. His plate of eggs and bacon was comically large today.

"Haven't we been over this, Lady Lucas? You know I can't finish that."

"Well, you better try. There's no sense in wasting food and you need it more than I do."

"Does she always do this?" Emma whispered, scooting in closer to his side and wrapping an arm around him.

"Every morning."

She squeezed her arm against his waist and her face fell. Somberly, she observed, "I forgot how much the cancer took out of you." Without warning, she jumped out of the booth—incredibly spry for a woman her age—and engulfed Granny in a hug once the plates were set down. He could imagine the content of their brief, hushed conversation, based on the warm glance Granny threw his way and her response of "Someone had to."

Emma gave her a peck on the cheek before sitting back down and digging into her pancakes (which were briefly interrupted by him placing a gentle kiss on her temple). Over the meal, she answered all the questions Snow hadn't been able to answer about the family.

"Oh, poor Henry," Snow lamented. "Losing both of us so close?"

"I know, but he's strong. He'll be okay, and Regina is there to help him, and vice versa." There was no denying how tight knit their weird little family had become—the loss of both Emma and Snow would be deeply felt, he knew, but probably most of all by those two.

Before the conversation could restart, a voice cleared its throat at the end of the table. "Your Highnesses, it's so nice to see you again after so long."

"Your Majesty," Snow greeted Arthur with a nod. (Emma was understandably quiet, given their history.) "Looks like you've done quite well for yourself down here."

The king blushed. "Well, I owe much of it to these two, especially recently. Their assistance here has been most valuable."

"It was our pleasure, Arthur," Killian quickly responded, and it truly had been.

"May as well do some good with our time down here, right?" David added, smiling.

"It's truly been an honor, men. And, if I may say so, I believe the winds are right today for a good sail." He stared pointedly at David and Killian as he said it, imploring them to catch his deeper meaning.

They did. Since assuming the throne of the Underworld, Arthur had developed a kind of sixth sense regarding the direction of souls. Whether it was part of the position or developed from Arthur's own studious nature was up for debate, but he could always tell when a change was coming.

"You know, that does sound pretty good," David agreed, sending a knowing glance to Killian.

"Even though we went yesterday?" Snow questioned, not quite catching what was going on.

"You can never spend too much time sailing, love," Killian countered.

Emma leaned her head on his shoulder. "Sounds perfect to me."

"Seems settled then," Arthur observed. "I hope you have a pleasant day, friends. Take care."

"You, too," Killian and Dave answered, knowing it was more a farewell than anything, and Arthur excused himself.

"So what _have_ you two been up to down here?" Emma wondered aloud, before taking a sip of her cocoa with cinnamon.

"Don't tell me you've spent the last few years attached to each others hips," Snow teased. Their so-called 'bromance' had long been a point of humor between the ladies—"adorable" seemed to be the prefered description—which was equally amusing to the guys. Why shouldn't they be best friends? They'd certainly been through enough together.

Their silence seemed to answer the question. "Did you really?" Emma asked in a tone that was less mocking and more of genuine awe.

He started, "Well, there was lots to do on the farm—"

"—And he can't quite sail by himself—" David jumped in.

"—And Arthur needed help—"

He was cut off by Emma and Snow's laughter. "Some things just never change, do they?" Snow mused.

"I'm glad you had each other," Emma added with a pat on his arm.

They continued to chat about what they'd been up to in the Underworld as they finished breakfast (Emma squeezed his hand tight when they told about freeing the souls from the river) and spent a fair amount of time saying goodbye to Granny when they left, with more than a few tears shed.

Arm in arm, they then made their way to the docks, Wilby at some point appearing and falling in step with them. At the harbor, the Jolly Roger bobbed in greeting, like it always did, as they boarded the ancient vessel.

Together, they equipped the ship for launch—a well-oiled crew at this point—and prepared to set sail.

"You ready?" David shouted at Killian from his place on the deck, holding tight to a line—and asking about far more than sailing.

"Aye," he confidently answered from the helm, and they were off.

The sun was nearing its peak in the reddish sky, but the farther they cruised toward the horizon, the brighter the world around them got. It was not unlike another time in Killian's memory, when a god had seen fit to send him back where he belonged.

Now, all these years later, he was again where he was supposed to be: at Emma's side, and with his family and best friends.

And together, they sailed into the white light of eternity, at peace at last.


End file.
